Correct me if I’m wrong

We cannot correct other people. We cannot even correct ourselves. Correctional work is the province of the pathologically pious.

Hiding in the weeds

The inner journey begins with a feeling of sharp remorse. Richard Rohr calls this the ‘Oh, shit!’ moment. It happens when we’re eyeball-to-eyeball with our primary fault.

Ennea-type Five

I can’t sing worth a damn. But of course! Owls have no song.

Graffiti

Our thought patterns gradually etch themselves onto the face. (That’s what charaxos means—something engraved or marked.) These fissures frame the eyes. Some men have eyes like schools of fish.